


Of Uneasy Alliances

by jadrea



Series: Mae Thompson 'Verse [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Casual Espionage, Gen, Minor Violence, Original Character(s), Smugglers Have Feelings Too, Some angst, Starfleet, background garashir, basically self-insert, episodic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24776158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadrea/pseuds/jadrea
Summary: An admitted smuggler arrives on DS9 with a few secrets to sell and less-than-honest intentions. A collection of self-indulgent episodes. (Written May-Oct. 2017)
Series: Mae Thompson 'Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1841959
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Open Season

The woman sat alone at a table, nursing a Plomeek tea, her eyes distant.

The Ferengi at the bar was watching her suspiciously. "She seemed harmless," he was saying as he wiped a glass and set it on a tray with a sharp clink, "But smart."

"Smart?" asked the Changeling who sat across from him, making no move to disguise his prying.

"Rule of Acquisition number 82," Quark replied, "'A smart customer is not a good customer.' She claimed I was overcharging for the tea-"

"And weren't you?"

The barman glared. "That's none of your concern. She bartered for it, made me drop my price."

"'Made you?'" Odo raised an eyebrow.

"Can't have her spoiling my reputation." He raised his hands and doused his tone in a thick layer of faux-sweetness, "I offer an oasis, a kind ear to those passing through. If she were to tell the customers my prices are exorbitant, well, that would be bad for business."

Odo gave a harumph and looked around at the bustling bar. "Looks as if your business is doing fine." Two figures at a table on the balcony caught his eye. "And them?"

Quark followed his gaze and scoffed. "Bajoran traders. They're cheap, not half as gullible as they should be." He leaned forward conspiratorially, "Rumor is they were some of the group that cooperated with the Cardassians, which makes them not especially popular."

"They seem to be quite interested in the newcomer," the Chief of Security remarked.

The barman shrugged.

"Perhaps I'll introduce myself," The suspicion was clear in Odo's voice, but before he could stand, the two Bajorans pushed their way across the balcony to the top of the stairs.

Descending the winding steps, they silently flanked the woman. She gave no indication she'd noticed them, nor did she seem particularly bothered.

"You," one said, "Human."

The woman glanced up, took in the two, and returned her gaze to her tea. "Can I help you, ladies?"

"I believe I recognize you," the other spoke.

"Must have one of those faces," the woman said, not looking up.

"Who are you?"

"I'm afraid I've never ventured out this way. We can't have met before."

"You didn't answer my question," the first scowled.

The Human seemed to hide a sigh as she finally returned the Bajoran's gaze. "I'm a merchant, like yourselves. Just passing through." The two were silent. She smiled. "I arrived on a transport this afternoon, just sitting down for a drink."

"Where did you come from?"

She pushed herself back slightly in her chair, the smile never flickering. "You two are awfully inquisitive, you know? I make it a habit of not conversing with strangers," she pushed out a chair, "Introduce yourselves, maybe I'll buy you a drink-"

"We want nothing from you, thief," the second snapped.

The face of the woman in the middle fell. "Hey, now, ladies, let's not throw around-"

"I know where I've seen your face –on a wanted poster. You're a thief," one of the two set a heavy hand on the Human's shoulder, "You've no right to be on this Station."

The woman's voice was quiet, carefully controlled, "I have every right to be here. I'm afraid you're mistaken, I'm no criminal."

The Bajoran on her left prodded the bag that occupied one of the chairs. "What's this?"

She warily met the accusing gaze. "Clothes, books. Necessities."

"Books?"

The woman's head tilted. "You know, made with paper, full of stories? I'm sure you have them on Bajor-"

"Don't patronize me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," the Human laid her hands flat on the table, "My apologies. I like to be entertained when I travel, I carry my books wherever I go." The Bajoran made to open the bag, and she spoke quietly, "Don't."

The hand tightened on her shoulder.

"What have you to hide, Human?" The words were spat, and the woman replied with an easy smile.

"I'm sure you wouldn't want your underclothes on display either, you understand."

Odo appeared on the other side of the table. "Is there a problem here?"

"This thief is refusing a search of her belongings," one of the Bajorans snapped.

"And who gave you the authority to conduct searches?"

The two bristled. "This is a Bajoran station-"

"And I am Chief of Security." There was a brief and forceful pause. "Any searches will be conducted at my discretion."

The Bajorans made to snarl a reply, but the Changeling's expression made it clear he was in no mood. Without another word, they turned and stalked away.

"Gee, you're a friendly bunch here, aren't you?" the Human said, taking a sip of her tea with a twist of her lips.

"I didn't catch your name."

"I didn't give it."

She met his eyes evenly, the smile on her face not unkind. After a silence, she continued, "I'd happily consent to a search, if you deem it necessary. I mean no offense –as I said, it's a habit of mine to keep strangers at arm's length."

The Changeling took her meaning. "I am Odo, the Chief of Security."

She regarded him for a moment. "Name's Thompson."

"Welcome to DS9, Ms. Thompson."

Thompson gave a nod. She indicated the open chair. "Have a seat, Mr. Odo."

He sat. "What brings you to the Station, may I ask?"

She took another swig of the tea. "Heard about the wormhole. Thought I'd come take a look for myself."

The Chief of Security knew a half-truth when he heard one. "I see. And, may I ask, is there any truth to their accusations?"

She set her glass down, carefully. Folded her hands. "That I'm a thief?" He nodded. "No."

Another statement that wasn't quite a lie. He offered a quiet 'hm' in reply.

She snorted. "Mr. Odo, I may be a stranger here, but I'm no fool. Why would I travel to a Federation-controlled station with a label like 'thief' attached to my name? If there were any truth to it, that would be a death wish. Or, at the very least, a surefire path to prison."

"I see."

Thompson's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Don't worry, I'll be out of your hair shortly. I won't cause you any problems."

"I'll hold you to your word." Odo narrowed his eyes and stood. "Enjoy your stay here, Ms. Thompson."

She nodded, watching him stride away. Across the bar she caught sight of the two Bajorans glaring at her.

With any luck, she'd survive the night. Maybe find a transport through the wormhole the next day. That'd beat staying put on DS9 –there was nothing there for her. Maybe the gamma quadrant would yield some safe haven. Somewhere.

...

She lay on her back, one arm crooked behind her head. The other rest on her chest, fingers loosely curved around the small charm around her neck.

The guest quarters were larger than she'd imagined. Smaller than crew quarters, of course, but compared to the cramped cargo bays and shaded corners she'd had to jam herself into in the past, the very presence of a bed and a private toilet was a luxury she wasn't quite used to.

She'd only half-expected the arrival of someone at her door. Staring for a moment at the ceiling, Thompson sighed. The chime sounded again, too insistent to ignore.

Rolling to her feet, she paused for just a moment before opening the door.

"Ladies," she greeted the two Bajorans, "What can I do for you?"

"Get off this station, thief," one hissed, fists clenched.

"Again with the thief thing–look, it was a long time ago," Thompson replied, lowering her voice, "I don't mean you or anyone here any trouble, I'm just-"

"I'm sure you're aware of the Federation's stance on smuggling," the other said, a bitter edge to her voice.

Thompson forced a smile. "Did Maddog put you up to this?"

"We'll throw you out an airlock ourselves-" One grabbed her arm, and Thompson gave a reluctant frown.

So much for the promise not to cause trouble.

Driving the heel of her hand into the Bajoran's ridged nose, Thompson slipped out of their grip and ducked around their partner's swinging arms. Feet scrabbling for purchase on the smooth floors, she slid against the wall and took off down the long, curved corridor. The now broken-nosed Bajoran recovered quickly, quicker than she'd imagined, and soon the two were right behind her.

Should have checked the floor plans, why didn't you check the damn floor plans, Thompson?

Running blind. That brought up memories, ones she'd rather hide at the bottom of a bottle of Romulan ale.

Thompson rounded a corner, not quick enough, and her elbow was caught by a flailing hand. Nearly pulled off-balance, she felt a boot hit the back of her knee, forcing her down. She rolled, loosening the woman's grip, and rose to her feet, stumbling.

There was the bustle of a crowd up ahead, somehow she'd snaked her way around the ring to the wide, open space she'd sat in earlier. The Promenade, they'd called it.

She was nearly in the light, nearly there, when someone caught her shirt, nails scraping painfully across her skin.

A fist found her ear, and the world spun.

"Running is always the sign of innocence," a voice hissed in her ear, and her head was pulled back, fingers roughly grasping at the short locks of her hair. She gave a pained grunt, unable to force something pacifying in reply.

A hand found her throat, applying enough pressure to make her eyes water, though thankfully not enough to choke off her breath.

The bloody-faced woman stepped into view, fist clenched. Thompson found her voice, rasped out, "Wait-"

Her words were interrupted by the blow, which caused a jolt of pain down her cheek. She felt blood run down her lips, and gasped out a swear.

What's going on here?" a voice called. The Bajoran stepped aside, lowering her fist, and, through the haze, Thompson saw the stern-faced Chief of Security appear.

"This Human attempted to rob us," the other started, hand not moving from its grip on Thompson's scalp. "We were merely defending ourselves."

"Really," Odo didn't sound convinced.

Thompson's legs, curved in an awkward half-crouch, began to loudly protest. She tried to shift her weight, but the hand on her neck didn't allow her much movement.

"Let her up," he commanded.

At his glare, the two released her and stepped back. She staggered to her feet with a muttered, "Thanks," rubbing her throat.

"To the Security office, all of you," Odo snapped, crossing his arms. The Bajorans sneered, and he added, "Now."

...

"Are these really necessary?" Thompson asked of the handcuffs, attempting to wipe her chin on her sleeve without success.

"Until someone here is honest with me, yes, they are," Odo replied, arms still crossed. It seemed his default position. "Now, tell me what happened."

"She attacked us," one of the Bajorans, who'd identified herself as Tipo, said.

"She's a criminal," the other, Jartet, added, "There's no reason for us to be in these restraints, it is she who-"

"Again, I'm not a criminal," Thompson spoke up, "And I'm offended that you suggest-"

"Your name didn't appear on the roster of any vessel that has arrived in the past day," Odo said, leaning forward over the desk, "Nor, in fact, in the past week. There is no record of you arriving here and yet, here you are."

"A stowaway and a thief!" Jartet snapped.

Thompson gave a casual shrug. "So I neglected to pay boarding fees, I apologize. I'd be happy to pay them now-"

"I'm afraid we'll require a little more than that."

A man in a blue-shouldered uniform ducked into the office. "I heard there was a fight, was anyone injured?"

Odo waved a hand at the three shackled in front of him, two of whom had blood dripping freely down their face. The man made quick work of the Bajoran's nose, using some whirring gadget Thompson didn't recognize.

When he stepped toward her she politely ducked her head. "Thanks, but I don't need any Federation help."

The doctor frowned. "I'm not here to recruit you, I'm merely here to stop you from bleeding all over Odo's floor."

Thompson fought to keep the suspicion off her face and grudgingly allowed the whirring device to pass over her cheek.

"Let's hear your side, shall we?" Odo asked, pointedly.

She paused. "My name is Mae Thompson. Sure, I've been called a thief-"

"Ha!"

"Have been," Thompson emphasized, with a sideways glance at the Bajoran who'd laughed, "Got in with the wrong crowd. But those charges were dropped. Now I operate alone."

"And what, may I ask, is your occupation?"

"I'm a merchant of sorts."

"A smuggler."

She smiled. "Smuggler is a strong word. I prefer trader."

"Release us," ordered Jartet, "she's admitted to her crimes, we are not at fault-"

"You committed assault," Odo said, "I intend to hand you over to your government and allow them to do with you as they wish. I have no proof that Ms. Thompson is, in fact, engaged in smuggling."

"Thank you," Thompson said, and started to twist around to allow her hands to be freed.

"However," the Chief of Security continued, "I do intend to hold you until I can determine just how much you're not telling me."

"Wha-"

"If I remember correctly, you consented to a search of your belongings?"

Despite herself, she smiled. Walked right into that one. "Of course, I have nothing to hide." Nothing you'll find, at least.

He dipped his head, and ushered her into one of the cells. The two Bajorans were quickly led into two others, voicing their outrage.

Odo seemed to realize the doctor was still standing in the doorway. "I believe that's all we need from you, Doctor Bashir, thank you."

"Oh, sure," he grinned, "quite exciting, isn't it? A fight leads you to a smuggler-"

"Alleged smuggler," Thompson called sweetly, sitting rigidly on the edge of the cell's hard bed.

"Yes, Doctor, it's all very exhilarating," The sarcasm was clear in his voice, and the doctor's face fell slightly.

"Oh, well, if that's all," he nodded and turned, almost reluctantly, to go.

Odo followed, glaring at the three occupants of the Security office's cells. "Behave yourselves."

Thompson heaved a sigh at his retreating back and swung her legs onto the bed, attempting to contort herself into a comfortable position and failing.

"You think she's lying?"

"I'm sure of it," the Chief of Security agreed, "There is something she's not sharing."

"What was her name again –Thompson?"

Odo nodded. "Mae Thompson. She claims she's never before visited this quadrant. I can find no record of her."

Sisko frowned. "The name doesn't sound familiar. So no affiliation with the Federation?"

"No, in fact she seemed quite hostile toward the idea."

"Perhaps it's a false name," Dax called, glancing up.

"I considered it," Odo concurred, "but further inquiry into other suspected smugglers turned up anything matching her description."

"What are you saying?" Major Kira asked, "That, officially, she doesn't exist?"

She was joking, and seemed surprised when Odo returned her smile with a grave look. "The most dangerous criminals, I find, are often the ones about which we know very little."

"Does she pose a threat to the Station?" Sisko asked.

"It's possible," Odo replied.

"Can you prove it?"

The Changeling straightened. "A search of her quarters may very well turn up evidence of her intentions here."

Sisko nodded. "Do it. And Odo, you know that if we have no proof, we can't hold her."

"I'm well aware, Commander."

...

"You may have earned the shape-shifter's mercy, Human, but I assure you there will be none from Bajor."

"Smugglers are harshly punished, especially those who steal from us."

"You won't make it out of this quadrant alive."

For all the two Bajorans knew, their words fell on deaf ears.

Thompson kept her breath even, quiet. Her arms were full of painful pin pricks, still bound as they were behind her back. She lay on her side, knees drawn up to her stomach. Searching for some kind of comfort in the cold, hard surface of the bed.

She felt the orb digging into her chest, the ragged brown cord pulled tight around her throat. A reminder.

The door opened, and she didn't move, assuming it was the Chief of Security, come to retrieve the Bajorans.

"My, my," a voice said, "Thompson, what a pleasure it is to see you again."

She froze. That voice…a voice she'd been running from for so long, too long- "Wish I could say the same of you, Nigel."

Nigel tsked. "You never did learn when to keep your tongue to yourself."

"Release us," Jartet snapped, "before the Changeling returns."

The newcomer sauntered to the desk and thumbed the control to release the two force fields. Thompson stayed in place, staring at the wall, her ears straining to place the location of the others in the room.

The Bajorans stalked back and forth before the portal of her cell, all but snarling. Nigel chuckled.

"You've certainly found yourself in a tricky situation, haven't you, Thompson? I suppose I could help you, it would only be kind. Business partners must stick together-"

"I'm no partner of yours," Thompson finally stood, shoulders stiff.

He stepped forward, slowly, smirking. "We had a deal, Thompson. You were to bring me the cargo, simple as that. Imagine my surprise, then, when I arrive at our meeting spot to find that you not only failed to show," he leaned closer, "but you deemed it necessary to rat me out."

"You're mistaken, Nigel," she said, "I fulfilled my end. And you've turned the authorities wise to me a dozen times, thought I'd return the favor."

"You delivered the latinum, yes, but the gem," he hissed, "Thompson, we had a deal."

"So you've said."

"I don't like a traitor, Thompson." He pressed his lips together in a thin line, clasping his hands behind his back. "I'll give you a choice. Either I open the door and let these two lovely Bajorans rip you apart, or I leave you here and let the fools at the Federation do what they want with you."

Thompson lifted her chin. "We've known each other for a long time, Nigel, you should know you can't scare me."

"Pick your poison," he smiled.

"Your choices leave much to be desired." She stood by the edge of the bed, unmoved.

"There is, of course, a third option. The gem."

"I don't know-"

Nigel stopped her with a raised hand. "You're right, we've known each other for too long. I know when you're lying, Thompson."

She kept her face blank. "I don't have it."

He laughed and turned away. "Another lie, you break my heart."

She frowned at his back. "I'm not lying, I don't-"

"And you've chosen."

Before she could protest, he hit the switch again and the force field fizzled out. Thompson stood again, struggled against her cuffs. The Bajorans stepped forward.

"Wait-"

A fist caught her in the stomach and she bent at the waist with a wheeze.

Staring at the ground, she gasped out, "I want to apologize for any hard feelings this may cause-" Straightening, her head caught Tipo's chin and made her stagger back. Thompson threw her weight at her attacker, knocking her to the side.

"I mean no offense to the people of Bajor," she continued, as her leg was pulled out from under her and she sprawled awkwardly on her side. "This doesn't concern you." Wriggling her bound hands around her feet, she managed to raise them at the last moment to block a double-fisted blow that would have left her senseless. "You seem nice." She rolled to the side, rising to her knees, "Lovely architecture."

Jartet turned from where she stood at the door, "The Changeling is returning."

"Good," Thompson said, "I'm sure he'll love thi-"

Nigel's fist pounded into her chest, and the air flew from her lungs. His hands found her throat. Leaning close, he hissed in her ear, "You'll get me that gem, or I swear I'll hunt you to the ends of the universe."

She gasped, eyes glazing. Her fingers scratched desperate lines down his face, and he reared back with a snarl.

Thompson rolled to the side, wheezing. She rose into a weary crouch, old instincts kicking in.

Her voice croaked. "Go to hell, Nigel."

He reached forward and she avoided his grasp, barely keeping her balance.

"I'll send you there first," he hissed, and, in a moment was gone.

A groan escaped her lips, once she was sure he was gone. Rubbing a hand to her chest, which felt like it'd been hit by a ton of bricks, she fell into a momentary daze. The voice of the Security Chief startled her back to reality.

He stood with arms crossed as usual, appraising her. "Your friends seem to have left you behind."

Her blood was pumping too loudly in her ears to allow her guard to fall. She eyed him like a cornered animal, but managed to keep her voice light. "You'll find they're not my friends. I'm a little hard up for friends right about now."

He gave a quiet harumph and stepped forward. She flinched back in reply, eyes narrowing. The next harumph was louder. "I mean merely to free your hands."

Her gaze flicked to the key in his hand. "Why?"

"Would you rather they stay bound?"

She swallowed. Held out her wrists. When the shackles were removed, she rubbed the sore skin. "Thanks."

He nodded. "Are you ready to give me honest answers, or are you content to continue lying?"

Thompson stood. "I can't imagine there's anything I haven't already answered." Odo tilted his head and seemed to be waiting for her to exit the room. She didn't move. "Why'd you-" she gestured to her wrists.

"This is your chance to explain yourself," he paused before adding a meaningful, "Your one chance."

...

"Ms. Thompson," the man sitting behind the desk greeted her, his face unreadable. Mae entered the office, hands stiffly at her sides, eyes flicking around the room.

She recognized the doctor, standing off to the side. Next to him stood a short woman in a bright red uniform, arms crossed. A taller woman stood to her left, in the blue uniform of a science officer, same as the doctor. The Chief of Security took up a position on the other side of the desk, where he could get the best view of the room.

"Her quarters were clear," Odo said, and the first man who'd spoken nodded.

"I'm Commander Benjamin Sisko," he said, extending a hand and indicating the open chair. "Won't you sit."

It wasn't a question.

She kept a smile on her face, sitting and interlacing her fingers on top of her knee. "You Federation types are hard to read."

Sisko tilted his head. "Why don't you give us your side of what happened?"

Thompson chewed on the order for a moment before responding. "There was a misunderstanding, they thought I was someone I wasn't."

"I'd say it was something more than that," the doctor –Bashir, she recalled– said. "Most misunderstanding don't result in blows."

She didn't remove her gaze from the Commander. "It was a very strong misunderstanding."

"And what about these-" Sisko waved a hand at the fresh bruises coloring her face and arms, "new developments?"

"Oh, this –I tripped."

Odo scoffed, and she glanced over.

"Really, I did. Those cells aren't very comfortable, you know, very easy to lose one's footing."

The Commander's eye flicked to her throat and she remembered the angry red marks left by Nigel's hand. She swallowed, keeping her face clear.

"Odo?"

"She was alone when I arrived, the two Bajorans were gone. Her cell was open," he cocked his head, "yet Ms. Thompson remained."

"As you said, Mr. Odo, they, ah, left me behind. Must be because I'm so clumsy."

"Did they do this?"

Her jaw twitched. Feigning ignorance. "Whatever do you mean?"

Sisko didn't blink. "Odo, can you access the security footage of the cells from my office?"

Thompson stared straight ahead as the Chief of Security nodded and entered a prompt into the computer on the Commander's desk. In a moment the image appeared on screen. The other officers stepped closer, watching. She felt them at her back, tried not to flinch.

It was strange, to say the least, to watch herself in this way. First huddled on the bed, then noticing the entrance of Nigel. Trading words, with stiff shoulders and a clenching jaw. Warily stalking forward to meet the Bajorans. As the fist of one connected with the image of her on the screen, she could almost feel the ache of it connecting again, as if for the first time. Felt the jolts of trading blows, difficult with bound hands.

Then she saw Nigel's hands make contact with her throat and, grainy as the footage was, she felt clearly the humiliation of being forced to her knees. She watched him lean forward to hiss his words in her ear, then release her. Saw her attempting to rise and face him.

Then he disappeared from the screen, and she saw herself slump sideways.

Her cheeks were burning in shame, shoulders stiffened. Somehow she managed a retort, "See, I tripped, as I told you."

"Looks like you had some help," Was that something like compassion in his voice? She felt her lip curl.

"What's the point of this?" she snapped, cool manner fracturing. "To humiliate me? You've had your fun, either turn me in or let me go."

"Wouldn't you like to press charges? The Federation could-"

"I don't need help from you," she growled. "That's the last thing I want-"

"You have a history with this man?"

She said nothing.

"You're protecting your attackers, you must have some kind of-"

"Respectfully, sir," she threw as much venom into the words as she was able, "I'm not protecting anyone. I just don't need any trouble."

"The man," Sisko ordered, "Who is he?"

Thompson ground her teeth, knuckles white.

"Ms. Thompson," Sisko prompted.

Finally she spoke, her voice barely above a hiss,

"Galen Nigel. We once served under the same master-"

"'Master?'"

The humiliation didn't seem to want to end. "The same Captain. In exchange for our freedom, we served on his ship. Helped with the shipments of…goods."

"Freedom from what?"

"You ask a lot of-" she stopped herself, "Nigel and I were at a refugee camp together, on a far moon a few hundred lightyears from here. Nasty place. Our captain freed us, we ran his ship. Until I disagreed with some of his policies and we had a-" She searched for the right word, then glanced to the side and fixed the doctor with a glare, throwing the word his way, "misunderstanding."

His eyes widened in reply, and she turned her attention back to Sisko. "I went it alone for a while, then foolishly accepted a deal from Nigel. For old times' sake." She gave a harsh laugh. "I should've known better, but sentiment makes you foolish."

"And now you've brought him here."

"Very foolish indeed," Thompson said.

"Is he dangerous?" the short woman asked.

Mae nodded.

"Commander, we need to apprehend him, if he poses a threat to this Station."

"I have security teams searching for him now," Odo said, "They'll report to me as soon as they find him."

The beginnings of an idea formed in the corner of Thompson's mind. "I could help you with that –getting rid of him, I mean."

Odo stepped forward, eyes narrowed. "You've already brought him here, I'm not sure we're willing to accept any more of your help-"

"Odo," Sisko stopped him. "Go on, Ms. Thompson."

She licked her lips. "I could distract him, lead him through the wormhole. Lose him in the gamma quadrant. I'd need a ship-"

"If we give you a ship, we'll never see it again," the short woman's voice was blunt.

"True," Thompson admitted. "But both I and Nigel would be gone."

Sisko inhaled slowly. "Major Kira, thoughts?"

The woman barked out a laugh. "We'll find him and bring him to justice, we don't need the help of a smuggler."

"Alleged smuggler."

"Dax?"

"There's something I don't understand," the woman in blue said, "This deal, is that the reason Nigel has pursued you here?"

Thompson nodded. "He thinks I'm holding out on part of it."

"And are you?"

She was tempted to give a sheepish smile, an attempt to charm, but found herself unable to muster the energy. "Yes."

"Then it's simple," Kira said, "give him what he wants, and both of you go your separate ways."

"It's not-it's not simple," Thompson spoke very carefully, "There is a certain...artifact...that I've acquired, that he wants. Something that cannot fall into his hands, under any circumstances."

Sisko narrowed his eyes, thinking.

"Sir," she sat forward, growing somber, "I would die to keep it from him. I understand that no one on this Station should be put in that situation, which is why I'm asking for this chance. I can get rid of him, and keep you all out of this, I just need a ship and some time."

The office was silent.

Finally the doctor spoke, "But that's suicide!"

She cast a glance his way. "Not if he doesn't catch me."

Sisko shook his head. "I can't allow you to chance it."

Thompson found herself on her feet. "Sir, I'm not asking permission. If you say no, I'll steal a ship and do it anyway. You forget I'm not part of the Federation, you have no authority-"

"While you're on this Station, I'm responsible for your well-being. I cannot-I will not allow you to do this."

She sat abruptly. "I never understood that –why you noble Federation officers are so willing to put your lives on the line for a stranger." She shook her head.

"Empathy is a valuable skill."

She scoffed, "It's a fool's weakness." But there was a furious tug in her stomach that couldn't let her fully believe the words.

A voice called from outside the office, "Commander Sisko, a ship has disengaged from the docking ring."

Sisko stood. "I didn't give the authority for any ship to leave."

"They're powering weapons!" the voice continued.

"It's him." Thompson's voice was matter-of-fact, her eyes never leaving Sisko's. "Let me do this."

He straightened, and she all but shied away from the impressive scowl on his face. "Odo, keep her here. Doctor, Dax, Kira, with me."

The doors of the Commander's office slid shut behind the officers. Thompson slumped back in the chair for half a moment, then sprang to her feet. The Chief of Security fixed her with a wary gaze, which grew even warier at her next words:

"Do you still have those cuffs?"

...

"The channel's open," Dax called.

"This is Benjamin Sisko, Commander of Deep Space Nine," Sisko's voice rang out across Ops, "May I ask the reason you disengaged the docking mechanism from your ship?"

"I'm surprised, Commander, I thought your first question would be about the weapons we have trained on your shield generators. We could easily destroy them and leave you defenseless –unless you'd rather quibble about docking procedure?"

Sisko didn't return the smile. "Who are you?"

"Galen Nigel, pleasure to make your acquaintance. And an even further pleasure it would be if you'd release to me your prisoner."

"Who might you be referring to?"

Nigel barked a laugh. "What has she told you her name is? Thompson?" He gave a toothy smile. "That one."

"Ah, Ms. Thompson. As I recall, you left her behind."

Nigel's face fell into a scowl. "Yes, well, we all make mistakes, don't we, Commander? Now a mistake on your part would be to not hand her over. That mistake, I'm afraid, would result in an assault on your Station."

"You've already done quite enough assaulting on my Station," Sisko replied coolly, "I recommend you take your leave."

Before Nigel could respond, there was a commotion from Sisko's office.

"Get your hands off me, Federation scum," Thompson spat, backing out the door.

Sisko found himself wondering why her hands were once again clasped by handcuffs behind her back, though the thought was quickly forgotten.

The woman ducked under the very perturbed-looking Chief of Security's arm, falling back against a console. "I'll die before I tell you where it's hidden."

There was a flash of something close to confusion that crossed Odo's face, before the Changeling seemed to shake his head. "You'll tell me what I want to know," he growled, pausing before adding a, "Human," for emphasis. He loomed over her and, for a moment, fear was etched into the woman's features.

The terror quickly morphed to defiance. "The gamma quadrant is too vast, you'll never find it. You'll never make it through the asteroid belt!"

"That's enough," Odo snatched her arm and dragged her to the turbolift, Thompson putting up as much of a fight as she could in the iron grip.

She was throw roughly into the lift and fixed the man with a surprised stare as she hit the back wall with an 'oof.' The car began to descend, leaving Ops in a startled silence.

Sisko returned his gaze to the screen, noting the victorious gleam in Nigel's eye.

"The gamma quadrant, eh? I should have guessed." His laugh was high and cold, "Thanks ever so much for your help, Commander."

Before Sisko could respond, the connection had been cut.

"They're heading for the wormhole," Kira said.

The Commander threw his hands up in exasperation. "On screen."

There was a quiet scuffling as Thompson, her hands still behind her back, appeared at his side. Her wide eyes watched the portal flare to life in an explosion of blues and golds, the small black silhouette of Nigel's ship disappearing within.

As the wormhole vanished and smooth, black space was left in its wake, she glanced to Odo. "Thanks for playing along, I was hoping you'd catch what I was going for."

Kira seemed to arrive at understanding at the same time as Sisko. They exchanged a glance. "That was an act," she said.

Thompson nodded, rubbing her wrists as they were once again released from the restraints. "A touch dramatic, but Nigel has never been one to shy away from that." Casting a grin at the Chief of Security, she said, "That push into the lift really sold it," she rubbed her shoulder, "albeit painfully so."

"Well, it seemed to have worked," Sisko said, bemused.

"Ah," Thompson raised a fist and knocked on her head, "don't jinx it, Commander."

"You've sent them on a wild hunt through the gamma quadrant," Bashir said, brow furrowed, "for what, again?"

Thompson's hand reached for her chest, pressing the orb into her skin. As quickly as the hand had moved, it flew away. "Something very important. I appreciate your assistance, I assume I can be going now-?"

Odo's hand caught her shoulder again, though not as firmly as it had before.

"Let's have a chat," Sisko said, crossing his arms.

The two men exchanged a glance, and Thompson flashed her best worried-I'm-not-worried smile.

...

She was fully aware of the Commander's glare at her shoes being propped on the edge of his desk, but made no move to remove them.

"A job?" she repeated, warily.

"You could call it that," Sisko gave a nod.

Thompson was attempting to exude the air of a cool and collected negotiator, but being once again trapped in a room with so many Starfleet officers was certainly disconcerting. "We've established I don't work for the Federation, you can't order me around."

"Naturally," Sisko said.

"But before we could allow you to leave," Odo stepped forward, "we'd need to do another sweep of your quarters. Perhaps this time we'll turn up a few bottles of Aaamazzaran ale that I missed the first time around. I'm sure you're aware it's heavily regulated in this quadrant."

Thompson gave a wide smile. She'd hidden that well, how did he- "I don't know what you're talking about, sir, but you certainly won't find anything like that in my quarters."

"Naturally," Odo echoed the Commander's word, and Mae realized she was being given a very clear warning.

Sisko set a PADD on the desk, and Thompson eyed it. He said nothing, merely raised an eyebrow.

After a moment, curiosity got the better of her and she snatched it up, scanning the words. "What's this," she scoffed, "First you accuse me of being a smuggler-"

"I'd say we've moved beyond accusations at this point," Kira said, behind her.

"-and then you make the leap that the skills I may or may not have acquired in the completely honest life I lead may assist me in some way to a tailor?"

"Sir, you can't be serious," Bashir spoke from her right, "it's far too-"

"That's enough, Doctor Bashir," Sisko said. To Mae, "Do you accept?"

"Now hold on just a moment," she set the PADD down, "The good doctor seems to think this is a bad idea." She crossed her arms. "I'm interested to hear why."

"There are suspicions that this man's a Cardassian spy," Dax stood to Sisko's left, hands folded behind her back.

Mae snorted and returned to her reclined position. "The Federation's sending a smuggler to spy on a spy? And you wonder why I haven't rushed to join."

"We would simply require you to inform us about his whereabouts, any contact he has with individuals off the Station-" Odo began.

"I thought I was to be an assistant, not a babysitter."

"Do you accept?" Sisko repeated.

"I suppose I'm curious, sure." Thompson leaned forward. "But let's say, hypothetically, that I've got some shred of self-preservation left, and I don't accept. What then?"

"I'm sure you could take your chances in the gamma quadrant, that your friend Nigel won't find you. Or of course we could report our suspicions of you and bring a full Federation investigation down upon the Station."

"Quark would love that," Major Kira delivered the quip with a smile.

"Your choice," Sisko prompted.

Mae quietly exhaled through her nose. "That's the second time today somebody's given me a rather undesirable choice. I can't say I'm happy about my odds either way." She ground her teeth, knowing she was in a bind. "Fine."

Sisko smiled. "Return to your quarters, we'll collect you in the morning and introduce you to your new...supervisor."

She scowled, turning on her heel and striding from the office.

"I don't think Garak will react well to a Federation-ordered shadow, Commander," Bashir warned.

"On the contrary, I'm sure the two will delight in swapping thinly veiled insults."

"So who will spy on the spies?" Kira asked, leaning against the desk and crossing her arms.

Odo gave a harumph. "Leave that to me."

Sisko nodded, "They're certainly both dangerous in their own right. We'd take care to keep a close eye."

"I intend to." Odo nodded to the senior staff and exited.

Dax smiled. "This should be interesting."

Outside the Station, the wormhole once again flared to life, illuminating the windows of the Promenade with its brilliant glow.


	2. Commodities

Mae Thompson was not a murderer.

By no means did she take excessive pleasure in fighting others, she did it only when it was necessary.

But she was getting very close to expanding her definition of 'necessary' to include a justification for her to punch a smug lizard-man in the face.

"Be careful with those," the reptilian in question called, striding ahead of her, "Wouldn't want them to wrinkle."

She rolled her eyes and adjusted her arms around the box, struggling to hold it to her chest and balance the rolls of fabric on top. Just a few days into her assignment –by the stars, assignment, she still couldn't believe those Federation bastards had cajoled her into working for them in any capacity– and she was already wishing she'd chosen to take her chances in the gamma quadrant.

When they'd said 'spy,' she'd honestly expected something, well, spy-like. Certainly the Cardassian was mysterious, keeping his cards close to his chest, and she got the feeling he was hiding far more than he was letting on; then again, her instincts told her to do much the same. Upon arrival she'd been met by a smile that was entirely too polite, and an immediate inquiry into her reading habits. When she'd responded that she mostly stuck to Earth classics, the resulting tsk made her feel as if she were a child receiving reproval from a world-weary teacher.

She couldn't help but think if she'd said literally anything else, she wouldn't be relegated to carrying crates of tailoring materials from Cargo Bay 2 up to Garak's shop. With the rate she was losing patience, one of these days she was sure she'd lose her mind and throw her travel bag, full of books, down on the Cardassian's desk, just to prove a point.

Thompson noticed the brief pause as they passed the infirmary, the barely noticeable sideways glance, then the pace had returned to its normal clip, and they were nearly back to Garak's Clothiers. She was too distracted, however, to be bothered to make anything of it.

She followed him into the shop, doing nothing to hide the scowl on her face.

"Set them there," he instructed, fussing over the fabric already sitting on the counter. She felt his eyes boring a hole in the side of her face, and it took all her self-control not to turn in her irritation. "Look, I-"

Abruptly, she felt his presence right behind her. She hadn't heard him cross the room, how such a stocky man moved so silently was beyond her-

"Did the Commander think I wouldn't notice he'd assigned me a shadow?" The hiss made her hair stand on end. "That he'd be successful in proving his little theory about my purpose here?"

Thompson kept her voice even. Intimidation was a game two could play. "He certainly seems to think so. Those officers must be convinced you've got something up your well-tailored sleeves."

"And what have you told them, may I ask?"

"Nothing they don't already know." She turned her head, slightly, to meet his eyes. "You worried about something, Mr. Garak?"

He gave a thin smile and stepped back, clasping his hands so casually it was as if she'd imagined the outburst. "Nothing in particular, no. Always good to keep ears open, especially when the topic is oneself."

He filled the rest of the day with airy discussion of Cardassian authors she'd never heard of, and she found herself shooting glares at his back whenever he turned away.

At least in the past people had had the decency to make it clear they intended to kill her; with this one, she couldn't be sure, and that was more irritating than a definite either way.

...

Mae nursed her tea, elbows pressed against the smooth, cool surface of the bar. She was scowling, but her lips curved into a smile at the sight of the Ferengi barman.

"Ah, Quark, just the man I wished to see."

"Thompson," he replied, wiping the bar with a towel and fixing her with a guarded look, evidently still peeved from their first encounter. "What can I do for you?"

"I've got some...merchandise I need to get rid of. I hear you've got connections."

"What kind of merchandise?" he asked, leaning forward.

"Aaamazzaran Ale."

He scoffed and stood. "Not interested."

"Quark-"

"You try and move that kind of merchandise, you'll get us both kicked off this Station," he hissed. "Or worse –far worse."

She pushed herself into a half-standing position to lean across the bar. "C'mon, Quark, you scared of the Federation?"

He bared his teeth. "Scared is not the word I would choose."

"Is it Odo, then?" She'd noticed the glances the two exchanged, like they were constantly sizing each other up. "He'd be lost without you, I'm sure-"

The Ferengi laid his hands pleadingly on the bar. "Not so loud, he might hear you."

Thompson glanced around and caught no sight of the tan-suited Chief of Security. "Relax, he's not around."

Quark lowered his voice. "Just because you can't see him doesn't mean he's not there."

Mae's mouth fell slightly open. She managed to resist the urge to ask the obvious question for only a moment. "What do you mean?"

"He's a Changeling-"

So that's what those Bajorans kept calling him. "A what?"

"A Changeling, only one of his kind –only one we've found, at least. He can be anything, which usually means whatever happens to be the least convenient for me."

Thompson's jaws shut with a snap. "You're not joking."

"Ferengi don't joke."

She sat back with a little smile. "That's not true, I once met one on K7 who had the best story about a Klingon, a Ferengi, and a Romulan who walk into a bar, and-"

"I do hope I'm not interrupting," a voice said from behind her, sounding entirely uninterested as to whether it was causing disturbance or not.

Quark flashed her an I-told-you-so look before slipping on a toothy smile. "Odo, care for a drink?"

"Occupy yourself elsewhere, Quark, Ms. Thompson and I have business to attend to."

The barman's smile fell. He glanced toward the ceiling with an irritated mutter, "'Quark this,' 'Quark that.'"

Odo perched himself on the chair to her left. "How are you finding your new position here on the Station?"

"Oh, fine, fine," she kept her tone light. "Although, Mr. Odo, when you and Commander Sisko asked me to do this, I assumed there'd be something for me to do."

The Chief of Security raised a brow. "How do you mean?"

"I mean, outside of the constant reminder of just how poor my sewing skills are, I haven't learned a thing." She took a sip of her tea, refused to meet his gaze. "Seems to me like I'm wasting my time."

He scoffed. "If you really feel that way, I'm sure the offer still stands to turn you over to the Federation for an investigation-"

"I appreciate it, I do. Warms my heart that you're thinking of me." She set her cup down with a forced smile. "But that won't be necessary."

"Then I suggest you do as you've been instructed." Thompson nodded once. Odo stood. "I'm glad we understand each other."

She pulled a face at his back and swallowed the dregs of her tea. Casting a final glare at Quark, who shrugged in reply, she turned away and stomped to her quarters.

...

The next morning in the replimat, she buried her nose in a well-thumbed copy of Oscar Wilde and was in the middle of taking a sip of the crummy replicator coffee when she noticed the lanky figure hovering across from her. She lowered the book.

"Yes, Doctor –Bashir, was it?"

He nodded, flashing a smile. "Good morning, Ms. Thompson, mind if I sit?"

She was very tempted to snap that yes, she did mind very much, but opted to take pity on him. "Go right ahead." Setting Wilde aside, she tilted her head, appraising him across the table. "What can I do for you?"

"Just wanted to check in on you, see how you were doing." At her narrowed eyes, he continued, "With your assignment."

"With Garak," Thompson clarified. She took another sip of her coffee, thinking. "I've found nothing out of the ordinary. He's just a plain and simple tailor –he's assured me of that fact several times."

"You see," Bashir leaned forward conspiratorially, "I've been trying to pry information from him myself for months now. We meet for lunch regularly, and he refuses to give me anything more than an argument about the merits of Cardassian literature."

Mae regarded his widened eyes with a slightly furrowed brow. "Is that so."

"It's quite infuriating."

You Federation bastards are quite infuriating, she refrained from voicing the thought aloud. Instead, she offered a thin smile. "It seems you're doing my job for me. I'd be happy to step out of the way-"

He raised his hands, "Oh, no, no! This is a chance for you to get inside his head."

"How so?"

"Think about it," the doctor was quite excited –granted, he seemed quite excitable. "You become his shadow, his trusted assistant, and then-"

"Then what?" she echoed his lowered tone, and cocked her head, "Share all he's told me in confidence with the Federation, damn him to prison, and emerge a hero?"

Bashir seemed to realize she was mocking him, and she fractionally softened her tone. "Doctor, there's just a few flaws with that plan. Firstly, he doesn't seem to have anything of that magnitude to hide. And secondly, even if he had, he certainly wouldn't share it with me, his newly-appointed assistant." She took another swig of the coffee. "And if he is what you say he is, he'd kill me at any sign of betrayal, before I got the chance to inform anyone of anything."

He frowned. "You don't seem very worried."

These kinds of implicit threats are nothing new, Doctor. She smiled. "He hasn't yet given me much reason to be." The doctor seemed to deflate and she fought not to heave an irritated sigh, "What about you, why are you so involved?"

"Casual interest," he replied, "I thought I might try to investigate the theory myself."

Casual, my ass, she thought. Aloud, she said, "Any luck so far?"

He set his chin on his fist, and she could swear he was almost pouting. "None. It's-he's just-" He was interrupted by a beep from his combadge.

"Sisko to Bashir."

The doctor tapped his chest. "Go ahead."

"Get up to Ops. A crewman's collapsed, I don't want to move her in case-"

Bashir nodded. "On my way."

"Sounds serious," Mae remarked, raising her eyebrows as the man stood.

"There's been something going around the Starfleet crew, must have to do with that," he murmured, before giving her a nod and hurrying away.

"Must have," Thompson said, relieved to return to her book.

...

"What should I do with these?" she asked, hours later, a few suits draped over her arm. She stood in the back of the tailor's shop, wondering aloud if she should swap the outfits on the mannequins, or display them elsewhere. When there was no reply, she turned. "Mr. Garak?"

The Cardassian stood at the front of the shop, looking out the doors. He gave no indication he'd heard.

She huffed out a breath. "Mr. Garak!"

That got his attention, and he turned. "Yes, put them over there." He gestured to the racks half-hidden near the dressing chambers, and she lugged the wares over. Focusing on hanging, she felt his eyes on her back as a pair of footsteps drew closer and the shop's doors hissed open.

She heard him pull the curtain closed behind her, blocking her from view of the shop, and, before she could turn, he greeted the newcomer. "Welcome, welcome, what can I-"

"Enough, Cardassian," someone snapped, "you know why I'm here."

Thompson could almost see the smirk on his face. "Ah, the shipment."

"Where is it?"

"It's scheduled to arrive tonight, through the wormhole. Cargo Bay 6, 23:00 hours."

And how would he know that?, Mae wondered, curiosity driving her to listen intently.

"That's late, later than you originally said."

"I'm afraid I can't control the schedule of Tellarite freighters," Garak sounded almost apologetic –almost. "But I do hope the conditions of our agreement still stand."

The newcomer growled.

"I believe I could throw in a tunic of the finest Bajoran silk, if that would make up for the tardiness of your shipment…?"

"I don't want that trash," the other snapped. "Just the ore, like we agreed, and I won't skin you alive. We're done here."

Garak seemed nonplussed. "I suppose that's fair."

His companion snarled, and she heard his footsteps begin to recede.

"Just a moment," Garak called. "You wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that ailment that's sweeping the Starfleet personnel, would you?"

"What's it to you?"

"Nothing, nothing, just curious."

"That's no concern of yours," the other snapped, and the doors hissed open and shut behind him. Mae turned her attention to hanging the garments in her arms, and blinked when the curtain was drawn back.

"Apologies," the Cardassian smiled sweetly, as if he'd forgotten she was there. Instantly Mae knew what this was: a test.

Finally, something interesting.

"What did he want?" she asked casually, like she hadn't heard the exchange.

"Oh," he waved a hand, "had some specifications about a suit, and seemed positively outraged at the price I offered."

"That's a shame," she said, meeting his eyes evenly. "Hope it works out."

His lips curved in a thin smile. "I'm sure it will."

...

What was she doing at Cargo Bay 6 at 22:50?

If she was caught, which she sincerely doubted she would be, she'd say she was lost. Going for a late-night walk. Suspicious, sure, but what could they hold her on? Loitering?

She muffled a scoff, pressing her back to the pylon and peering down the corridor. She should have told Odo, or Sisko, more like. But she'd never been one to make things easy on the Federation.

She lived to make their lives difficult. Call it a hobby.

A figure approached, one she didn't recognize. His footsteps were the same, heavy clomps she'd heard earlier, and she concluded this must be the man from the shop.

Interesting, what's a Klingon doing concerning himself with ore shipments on the edge of a Bajoran wormhole?

She pushed herself further into the shadows, listening.

The Klingon didn't seem to realize he was early, angrily striding back and forth down the corridor with the air of a man who hated to be kept waiting.

Finally the doors to the Cargo Bay slid open. "Ah, sir, you must-"

He grabbed the captain of the Tellarite freighter, pushing him back inside the Cargo Bay. Mae hustled forward, pressing an ear to the door, struggling to listen.

Some muttered words about the cargo, an assurance of quality, a warning to never keep a Klingon waiting. Thompson heard footsteps coming down the other end of the corridor and darted back to the shadows of the pylon just in time for Quark to come striding into view.

She frowned, what was he-

Behind him trailed another Ferengi, loping along and looking supremely uncomfortable. "Quark," he hissed, "this is a bad idea, what if Odo-"

"Shut it, Rom," Quark hissed, "What he doesn't know can't hurt him. I've got it under control."

Mae suddenly had an idea she was almost certain would fail, but decided to try it anyway. She dropped her voice as low as possible and gave a gruff whisper, "Quark, what are you doing here?"

The two Ferengi jumped, staring into the shadows. "Who's that? Who's there?"

"You really are an idiot, aren't you, Quark," she hissed, and added a harrumph for good measure.

Quark tensed. "Odo, I-ah-don't get the wrong idea-"

"Get out of here, Quark." The two stood frozen in place, and she shuffled, attempting to make herself sound larger than she was, "Now."

Quark and Rom turned tail and all but sprinted from the hall, the former swearing under his breath. Surprised that that worked, Thompson steeled herself. They'd obviously planned a deal, it'd be a shame if that opportunity went to waste…

She walked into the cargo bay before she could change her mind.

"Gentlemen," she said, hands clasped behind her back, "gentlemen, did you really think it would be that easy to smuggle something through my Station?"

The Klingon had murder in his eyes. "Who are you?" he growled.

She chuckled. "A concerned party. You see," she stepped forward, keeping her shoulders lose should she need to quickly avoid an attack, "I've got nice business going on this Station. A neat little net of connections, and with you two being so…careless, I'm worried that might all get undone."

"Watch who you're calling careless-" the Tellarite captain snapped.

"Were you aware this Station's Chief of Security is lurking around outside?" she asked, "It's not as if you were hard to find. You practically lead him here with a trail of breadcrumbs."

"Odo?" the Klingon scoffed, "The fool couldn't tell a Denebian slime devil's head from its ass."

"That may be," Thompson allowed, stepping closer, "but he'll find you soon enough. He's close, didn't you hear him outside a few moments ago?"

The Tellarite's mouth twisted. "I heard voices-"

"A trick!" the Klingon snarled.

"By who, your Cardassian informant?" He pulled a face and she smiled wider, "Yes, I know about him, too. And if you don't want Odo to find out about your little arrangement, you'll give me what I want."

The Klingon clenched his fists. "What?"

"A third of the ore."

He scoffed. "For a bluff-"

"Are you willing to risk it?" She kept her face even, hoping she'd played the right card.

His snarl grew fiercer. "A fifth."

Now she was getting somewhere.

"A fourth, nothing less."

"You don't want to cross Odo," the Tellarite urged, "You don't want to risk it, he's ruthless."

"Indeed," Mae nodded, "But I personally can assure you he won't find out about you two. That is, if-" She waved a hand at the crates of ore sitting on the ground.

The Klingon bared his teeth. "If I find out you have lied to me, I will-"

"Kill me?" A grin. "My friend, you'll have to get in line." She held out a hand. "Deal?"

He let out an angry rumble, thrusting out his hand to take hers. Thompson leaned forward, "Now about that sickness-"

"A passing ailment," he growled, releasing her hand and looking as if he wanted to rip her head off. "A distraction."

"Understand my concern," she let a hint of malice enter her voice, "If all Starfleet personnel on this Station drop dead, you realize how suspicious that looks, don't you? How incriminating that would be to those of us who've done our best to avoid the entanglement of the Federation."

"A passing ill," he insisted, his voice gruff. "Altered to recognize the electronic signature of those combadges they wear. It will last a few weeks, no more. But if a few Starfleet men die, that's no worry of mine."

"Of course, nor would a few deaths worry me," she assured him, with a light laugh. "I trust we won't have any more…problems?"

"No."

She smiled. "Good. Leave my share here as you go, I'll collect it," she gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "Good evening, gentlemen."

The doors hissed shut behind her and she paused for a moment, listening. There wasn't the immediate sound of them rushing to kill her, and she took that as a sign that her foolish ploy might just have worked.

That taken care of, Mae hastened to the infirmary.

...

"The combadges?" Bashir was rubbing sleep from his eyes. He'd been slumped over a console, formulas for possible antidotes lining the screen above his head as the computer checked and cross-checked each. He looked exhausted, and Thompson couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

And she was doing this, not because she cared about those Federation bastards, who'd essentially saved her life –but because it would look bad on her for a whole Station's worth of Starfleet personnel to drop dead. Yes, that's why. Not guilt. She didn't owe them anything.

"I don't understand."

She struggled to keep her tone light. "Just a hunch, it strikes me that only Starfleet personnel have been affected? Not the Bajorans?"

"Yes," he nodded.

"So there must be something linking them all together. It's not the replicators, because we all eat from them. It can't be something in the air, because we'd all be sick. It can't just be humanoid, because there are non-humanoids affected. Am I correct?"

He nodded again, the light returning to his eyes. "You're right. It's got to be those combadges. The Bajorans wear a different design." He tapped his own, "Bashir to Sisko."

There was a moment's pause before the Commander responded. He sounded tired, his words all but slurring together. He must have come down with it, too, Mae thought. "Sisko here."

"Sir, I think this sickness has to do with our combadges. With the electronic signatures they put out."

"What are you saying, Doctor?"

"I mean that perhaps we should all remove them and recalibrate, that should do something to counteract whatever's causing this."

There was a pause followed by a heavy sigh. "Alright."

Bashir glanced over at Thompson. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," she said, "It was your intuition, Doctor, I had nothing to do with it." She smiled at the confused look he fixed on her. "Good night."

...

If Garak was surprised to see her the next morning, he certainly didn't let on. She set the canvas bag in front of him without fanfare and stepped back, watching a hint of confusion creep across his face.

"What's this?"

"Your share," she offered. He narrowed his eyes, and she snorted at his suspicion. Snatching the bag, she dropped a few of the stones on the counter. "From the Klingon."

In an instant, his face was wiped clean, unreadable. He stared at the rocks, silent. Thompson took some pride in rendering him speechless.

She returned the bag to its place, striding to the back of the shop to set about organizing the stock. His eyes were on her, studying the side of her face. She couldn't help but feel he was searching for an opportunity to snap her neck, the eyes felt like those of a wolf upon a lamb.

But she was no lamb.

Thompson tried not to be the first to break the silence, purposefully keeping her back to the tailor, watching his reflection in one of the mirrors on the back wall.

He turned back to his work, silently hemming, deftly working the needle through the fabric.

Damn the stars, the Human couldn't resist it any longer. "You're really devoted to this 'dark and mysterious' act, aren't you?"

Garak didn't look up. "And you seem content to show the universe that you're a fool."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sure half the Station already believes it."

"I didn't tell anyone about your little tryst with the Klingon-" Her fist clenched around the trousers she was folding.

"Exactly my point." He finally looked up. "A very convincing act –unless, of course, it's not an act."

"I won't stand here and be insulted like-"

He flashed a broad smile. "Then by all means, leave."

She threw the cloth down, ignoring the disgruntled noise he made in response to the fabric's treatment.

"Let's get just one damn thing straight. You don't want me here, fine. I don't want to be here. But I don't have much of an option –it was this, or death, or prison, and I'm still clinging to the hope that this was the least painful of those choices." His expression hadn't changed, as blank as a sheet of paper. "And it doesn't look like either of us are going anywhere anytime soon.

"Now, I've heard the rumors about you, and, to be perfectly honest, I couldn't be bothered to give a damn. I've dealt with monsters, and so-called monsters, before, I can handle myself. All I posit is that you don't try to kill me, I don't try to kill you. We try to work something out, make this...arrangement slightly less painful."

He inhaled a sharp breath through his nose. She remained perfectly still, returning his gaze.

"Let's start with that," she thrust a finger at the bag of ore laying forgotten on the counter, "I made a deal, saw an opportunity. I'm sure we could make the most of future opportunities, if you'll work with me. Mutual benefit, to avoid mutual insanity."

He regarded her calmly, with an unspoken 'Are you finished?' She gave a sharp nod and leaned against the table, crossing her arms.

She couldn't read his face, but noticed a strange little light enter his eye.

Finally he spoke.

"Your stitching needs improvement." Thompson heard the smirk in his voice before it crossed his face.

She glowered in reply. "Glad we could get that straightened out."  
He

glanced at the clock on the wall. "Ah, time for lunch." He paused, lifted his chin. "Care to join us?"

The Human was straightening the seams of the garment her fists had wrinkled, "'Us?'"

"Doctor Bashir and I."

"Wouldn't I be interrupting?" The sugary tone of her voice did not go unnoticed.

The Cardassian gave a charmed smile. "I assure you it's nothing like you seem to be implying."

Mae stood. "Of course not." As if everyone on the Station didn't already know, she thought, with a devious little smile.

...

"Sorry I'm late," Bashir apologized, hurrying toward their table. He seemed only slightly surprised to see Mae. "Hello, Ms. Thompson."

"That's quite alright, Doctor," Garak replied, hands folded in front of him. The two had been sitting without speaking, each intently studying the smooth surface of the table, vying for control through silence.

It took the doctor a moment to notice the icy air, and his eyes flicked between the two. He seemed too tired, however, to do anything but stumble off toward the replicator and retrieve his lunch.

Thompson prodded at her chicken parmesan with a fork, trying to hide her boredom. Bashir returned and flashed her a smile. "The crew affected by that sickness are feeling better. Bloody odd, how it only affected Starfleet personnel. You were absolutely right about the combadges, we've had them recalibrated and not a single other case has been reported."

Mae felt Garak cast his eyes sideways at her. She smiled and ignored him. "Doctor, I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"But the-"

"Really, Doctor, you must have me confused with someone else." She hoped her eyes were saying 'drop it' as clearly as her words.

He acquiesced with a wave of his fork. "Oh, was that Wilde I saw you reading the other morning?"

"Yeah, a collection of his stories."

"Wilde?" Garak smoothly joined the conversation, "Is that one of your Earth authors?"

Bashir nodded, speaking around a mouth full of pasta. "Oscar Wilde, he's from the United Kingdom, nineteenth century."

"And in what subject did he tread?"

"Wit," Thompson said. "The witticisms of man."

Garak fixed her with a calculated look, "And what an amusing subject it is."

She allowed a half-smirk in reply.

Bashir cast a curious glance at them, and added, "Sometimes it seems like his characters don't let each other get a word in edgewise. They made a habit of twisting one another's words, especially when the conversations concern personal philosophies." He leaned slightly forward. "Sounds a bit familiar, wouldn't you say?"

Garak's eyes widened in faux-outrage. "Whatever are you implying, my dear Doctor?"

"I'm not implying anything," Bashir replied, a glimmer in his eye, "I'm merely saying it's sometimes hard to make myself heard."

The Cardassian straightened in his chair, "In some cases, Doctor, perhaps it's for the best."

"Sorry?"

"In last week's discussion, you called the text repetitive."

Bashir raised an eyebrow. "It was."

"It placed emphasis on traditional Cardassian familial rituals," Garak sounded like he was fighting for patience, "Certain themes emerge over and over again. It's a purposeful choice by the author."

"Repetitive."

"Another might call it enduring."

"Who, a desperate, love-struck youth?"

"Certainly not, a youth would not yet recognize the significance. They tend not to have much respect for their elders."

Thompson was casting her eyes back and forth between the two men like she was watching a tennis match, brows rising higher in amusement as the debate grew more heated.

"That's not merely a Cardassian thing, no need to sound so pompous about it."

"Pompous? My dear Doctor, I was merely pointing out-"

Mae cleared her throat and rose, taking her tray with her. "Gentlemen, I hope you'll excuse my rudeness, but I've got some business to attend to." Two heads swiveled to look at her almost in sync, and she almost couldn't stifle a laugh. "I'll-ah, leave you to it."

Leaving the replimat, she couldn't help but wonder if they were both spectacularly obtuse, or if a great deal of work was actually being put into the display. But that was no concern of hers –at the moment, she had a certain Ferengi to hassle.

...

"Quark," she called, sauntering to the bar.

The Ferengi glanced over and scowled. "What do you want, Thompson?"

"Have you had a chance to think about my offer?"

"The ale?"

"Yes."

"No."

She slapped the bar. "C'mon, Quark-"

"No, no, a hundred times no! I'm an opportunist, not a sadist," he turned away to clean a glass, and she grinned at his back.

"That's a shame, truly, it is. See, I was hoping you wouldn't force my hand." Leaning closer, she lowered her voice, "I'd hate for Odo to find out where you were last night. Snooping around Cargo Bay 6, seems awfully suspicious…"

He didn't turn, but she could hear the victorious smile in his voice. "By all means, inform him." There was an unspoken 'You're too late, he already knows,' and she grinned wider.

Mae summoned the gruff growl she'd used the night before, "You really are an idiot, aren't you?"

He stiffened, spun to face her. "You?"

"I'm surprised you fell for that, Quark, I am. It was a poor impression, at best. Perhaps I should try my hand at ventriloquism. Are you hiring entertainment for the bar?"

"You wouldn't tell-"

"Wouldn't I?"

He set the glass down on the bar with a sharp click, snarled, "All this for some-some Aaamazzaran ale?"

She gave her best opaque smile. "Be a dear and see if there are any interested parties."

The barman curled his lip, his sharp teeth set in a grimace. Finally he snapped, "Fine."

"Wonderful."

"That wasn't a definite yes-"

"Ah, but it wasn't a definite no," she pointed out, straightening. "Quark, this is the beginning of a beautiful business relationship, I can feel it."

She flashed a final smile before turning, pushing her way through the lunchtime crowd that was gathering in the bar.

Rom pushed forward, watching her go. "What was that?"

Quark snarled at him, and his brother winced away. Glaring through the window, he said, "She'll be the death of me, I can see it now."

Sensing his gaze, Thompson turned on her way back to Garak's shop and offered him a little wave, feeling a smug sense of pride. If her gut and lady luck had anything to do with it, maybe this hellhole wouldn't be so hellish after all.


	3. Of A Feather

Upon reflection, Mae Thompson realized she could have handled the situation with a bit more delicacy.

Unfortunately, she thought, her hands scrabbling for purchase on two of the enraged Edosian's arms, delicacy was not her strong suit. And the offended party certainly wasn't reacting with anything close to subtlety; the man's third limb gesticulated wildly around her head, his high-pitched shouts deafening.

Her feet were swinging freely in open air as his stubby fingers dug into her throat, holding her out from the balcony. Lungs screaming for breath, she couldn't do more than grunt out a wordless protest, unable to form the necessary syllables of 'Let me explain.'

There were gasps and shouts from the crowd that had gathered below, joined by those from a similar group that had formed behind the figure on the second floor.

Digging her nails, bitten down to the quick, into one of the hands, a she had a split second to feel victorious as its owner released her with a scream of outrage.

Then came a moment of bitter realization as the move sent her plunging to the floor below, morphing to confusion as a large raptor-like beast swept past her head and snatched the back of her shirt in its talons.

Circling low, it dropped her none too gently to the ground, and soared back up to the startled Edosian. A few of the braver bystanders had rushed forward to snatch his arms, and a security team was already pounding across the floor to meet him.

Thompson was rubbing her shoulder, smarting from her unceremonious landing, when the winged creature alit a few feet away. She tried to push herself back as it moved forward, talons glinting in the harsh Station lights, "Uh, nice bird-raptor-thing-"

It took on an odd, shimmering glow, and started to sprout legs and grow until she recognized the scowling face of the Chief of Security. "What have you done now?"

Mae rose to her feet with a groan, "What makes you think I did something? I was the one being assaulted."

Odo scoffed. "You've always done something."

He pushed past her to the security office, to apprehend the struggling Edosian. She called after him, "I resent that!"

Glowering at the crowd, she started toward Garak's Clothiers but paused when she saw the owner had returned. Early, of course. He turned, arms crossed in an unspoken question.

Mae glanced past him at the mess of clothes and tumbled mannequins that littered the floor. "I-ah, there was a misunderstanding-"

"A misunderstanding," he said, coolly infuriated, "It appears more like a wild sehlat was set loose in my shop."

"This Edosian came in, looking for a suit," she followed him inside, speaking at his back as he attempted to reassemble the store. "I told him it would take a little longer than normal, to accommodate the third arm and leg, you know."

"And that caused him to do-" Garak waved his hands, "this?"

"Well," Thompson hung back, "Not exactly. I just-well, I didn't intend for it to be-I simply told him not to get his limbs in a twist. And, uh, the universal translator didn't quite…catch my meaning."

"Ah."

She dug her fingers into her upper arm, massaging the sore muscles. "I'm fine, thanks, since you didn't ask." He didn't respond, and she rolled her eyes. "How'd your meeting go?" The emphasis made him tilt his head and cast his eyes sideways at her.

"It's impolite to spy, you know."

Thompson scoffed so loudly she was sure she'd ruptured something in her throat. "The pot calls the kettle black."

He raised an eyebrow ridge. "Another of your well-meaning Earth sayings?"

It physically hurt to restrain her eyes from rolling.

There came an enraged shout from across the Promenade. "Thompson!"

She swore, and considered ducking behind the counter as Odo stormed into the shop.

"Ah, Odo," Garak greeted him, "What may I-"

"Do you realize just what you said to that Edosian?" he snapped, ignoring the Cardassian.

Mae gave an apologetic grin. "I got the basic idea when he tried to strangle me, yes-"

"He's demanding a formal apology from Commander Sisko," the Chief of Security moved forward, and she stood her ground, trying to evenly meet the rage in his face, "Threatening to bring you up on charges of harassment. You may have caused a diplomatic incident."

"To be fair-"

"No, no 'to be fair'-" This time she couldn't stop herself from taking a step back, and could swear he'd grown several inches taller and was looming over the counter at her. "You will apologize to the Edosian. You will explain yourself to Commander Sisko. And you will be more careful with your comments in the future, however off-handed they may be, or I will throw you off this Station myself."

Thompson's shoulders were up by her ears, and she forced them down, clearing her throat. "Understood."

Odo gave an enraged 'bah,' and turned on his heel.

Mae scowled at Garak's smile, and, gathering what was left of her dignity, went to do as she'd been ordered.

As the door hissed shut behind the red-faced (alleged) smuggler, Major Kira watched her go, unable to hide the twist of her lips. "Odo seems to have gotten under her skin."

Commander Sisko seemed far less amused. "Rightly so, she could have plunged this Station into the midst of a quarrel with the Edosians. Their alliance with the Federation is already tentative at best, we're lucky they were feeling forgiving this time."

Kira took a seat in the chair Thompson had abandoned. "She's young, it was a mistake. We're all allowed a few of those, aren't we?"

"She's old enough to know when to watch her tongue," Sisko snapped, though his voice soften slightly. Talking to Thompson, he'd felt strangely like he felt when lecturing Jake, full more of disappointment than true anger. "Perhaps I made the wrong decision, placing her so close to Garak. I worry it's too dangerous-"

"Sir, she's a quick thinker," Kira pointed out, "You saw how she handled Nigel. True, Garak is dangerous, there's no denying that –but I get the feeling Thompson knows how to handle herself, and when to keep her distance."

The Commander clasped his hands on the desk, a sour look on his face, "So far what I've seen is her ability to push my patience. Give her an inch and she'll take a mile."

"She knows how to play the game," Kira leaned back in her chair, a smile playing along her lips. "That's how rebellions are waged."

"I don't want a rebellion, Major," Sisko said, but returned the smile. "I suppose it's good to keep Odo on his toes, give him a break from constantly breathing down Quark's neck."

"I'm sure he appreciates it."

Sisko chuckled. "I'm sure he does."

...

Quark glanced up with a smirk as Odo all but threw himself down on a chair with an exasperated huff. "Care for a drink, Odo?" he asked, and grinned wider at the glare the Changeling cast his way.

"Don't test my patience, Quark, I'm not in the mood."

The Ferengi joyfully bared his teeth. "Something's got you upset. Let me guess –Ms. Thompson."

The Chief of Security all but growled at the name. "First it was the two Bajorans. Then that Nigel fellow. Then a Klingon that tried to convince me she was blackmailing him." Quark shifted slightly at this, but Odo was for once too enraged to notice. "Then three separate crewmen came to say she had offered them illicit goods, accusations which she denied and about which I have yet to turn up any proof. Now this business with the Edosian, and nearly starting a diplomatic incident-"

"Sure you don't want that drink?"

"Bah," he stood, raising a threatening finger, "Don't think for a second this allows you free reign of the Station, Quark." Leaning closer, "I've still got my eye on you."

The barman pressed a hand to his chest, offering a somber, "I'd be insulted if you didn't."

Odo stalked out the door without another word. Quark smirked in his wake, turning away.

"Barman," a Tellarite called, from the other end of the bar. He was sitting at a table with a handful of other merchants, all of whom fixed the Ferengi with leers.

"Respectfully, gentlemen, I am not a barman, I am your host," he said, making his way over, "What can I do for you?"

"Another round!" the Tellarite called, and his companions cheered.

As Quark returned with their drinks, the man caught his arm. "That Chief of Security," he hissed, "Is he really a Changeling, like they say?"

The Ferengi nodded, baring his teeth in what he hoped was a friendly grin, wondering where the inquiry was going. The merchant waved a dismissive hand and, as he turned to go, Quark heard him mutter, "Wonder where they got a freak like that?"

His table once again erupted into raucous laughter, and Quark narrowed his eyes slightly.

The Changeling could take a joke, certainly, and they were just throwing words about. That couldn't hurt anyone.

...

"Mind if I sit?"

At the words, Thompson glanced up, tearing her eyes from the ship logs she'd been scanning on the PADD.

She didn't recognize the smiling Tellarite, and was about to make an excuse and say she was leaving, even with her potato soup half-eaten, when she saw the subtle outline of the blade tucked in his shirt and realized the question wasn't a question. "Sure."

"So you're Thompson."

Another non-question. She nodded. "I'm afraid I don't recognize you…?"

"Skorar Daaf," he replied, glancing around, "This Station's a dump."

Mae set the PADD down, pushed her bowl to the side. "The Cardassians weren't kind upon their departure, as I understand."

"No," he snorted, "They left you with a Bajoran trash heap and a puddle as a Chief of Security."

Thompson forced a laugh to accompany his. "I'm a newcomer, can't say I've had to suffer through it very long."

"I've spoken with men who have," he leaned forward. "They say that Changeling is a real tricky-" He seemed to struggle to find the correct word.

Thompson, losing patience, offered, "Adversary. There something I can do for you, or are you content with simply commiserating?"

"I've got an offer for you," he replied, and she didn't especially like the look in his hooded eyes.

"Oh?"

"You and that barman, Quick-"

"Quark."

"-I hear you have an interest in handling certain merchandise."

She narrowed her eyes. "We've moved things in the past, sure."

"I happen to be shipping some weapons through the wormhole," Daaf said, "I'm sure we could spare some should you and a few of the other…merchants on the Station wanted them."

She echoed the words, "Wanted them for what, exactly?"

He snorted, wise to her deliberate obtuseness. "I'm sure you could figure something out." His head turned to give a meaningful look in the direction of the Security office.

Thompson kept her face even, "Of course. I'll keep it under consideration."

He gave a final sneer and stood. She thoughtfully ate a few more bites of her soup, the taste growing gradually sourer in her mouth until she was forced to dump the bowl and hasten over to Quark's. She caught him behind the bar.

"What kind of impression did you give that Tellarite merchant?"

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean he offered me weapons."

"Great!" he leaned forward eagerly, "What kind-?"

"No, I don't deal in weapons," she laid her hands on the bar, "You know how strict Odo is about them-" Even just a few weeks had taught her that the Station policies on illicit weapons were as immobile as a bulkhead.

"Odo," Quark waved a hand, though something unreadable crossed his face. As quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him, you know."

"You don't understand, that Tellarite seems to think we've got some kind of merchant association. He was offering to arm us. Against Odo."

That caught the Ferengi's attention. "Really…"

Her eyes widened, "You think he's trouble?"

For once, the barman seemed subdued, nodding.

"What should we do?"

His face hardened, jaw set. "Nothing. Odo can handle himself." He bared his teeth in a thoughtful grin, "Though we could accept the weapons…"

"Do it yourself," Thompson said sweetly, turning for the door.

"Maybe I will," he called after her, "Never let an opportunity pass you by!"

...

Jadzia Dax looked surprised to see the figure that caught up to her as she strode along the Promenade. "Ms. Thompson," she greeted.

"Commander." The other woman nodded, managing to simultaneously look both slightly sheepish and lost in thought. "I was wondering if you could tell me anything about the Tellarite freighter that's docked here. The one scheduled to leave tomorrow, the Borhya." Dax tilted her head. "I know you can't tell me anything classified, of course, that's not what I'm asking. I mean-do you know anything about the captain?"

"Daaf?"

Mae nodded.

Dax sighed, considering. "The ship has been through several times, but this is his first time through DS9. He's shipping ore through the wormhole-"

"Ore?"

"Yes, to a processing plant the Bajorans established on one of the moons."

Interesting.

"Is there a problem?"

Thompson was quiet for a moment, thinking. "No, just curious. We struck up a conversation earlier, I thought I'd ask."

Dax smiled, some 300 years of experience seeing straight through Mae's words. The other offered a smooth smile in return and strode away.

...

Standing idly by a mannequin, Thompson decided to stick her neck out. "Garak."

The Cardassian didn't look up. "Yes?"

"What would Bajoran miners want with weapons from a Tellarite merchant?" There was a pause, and she turned. "Hypothetically."

He was staring intently at her, his gaze coolly calculating. "Why are you asking me?"

She lifted her chin. She knew he'd met with the Tellarite captain, he knew she had as well, though neither knew the why, nor was willing to call the other. "Just a hypothetical question," she replied.

"I'm afraid I don't know-"

"Of course, maybe the Tellarite isn't taking the weapons to the Bajoran refinery, maybe I'm wrong," Mae interrupted. "Although it's no secret many Bajorans are reluctant to travel the wormhole. They think it's a temple, after all." Her eyes widened, the ideas connecting. "Maybe he's taking them to the people, to use against the refinery. Maybe he got them here."

Garak gave a thin smile. "Hypothetically, of course."

"What are the Bajorans doing refining ore?" she finally asked the question that had been nagging the back of her mind. "Isn't that-oh!" The realization that she was a fool finally hit her. "Oooh. He didn't get them here, no, not here –Bajor."

He raised an eyebrow ridge, silently.

She started to pace back and forth, speaking mostly to herself. "The ship log showed a crew of nearly a dozen men, I wrote them off as merchants, but that's a lot of merchants for a few tons of ore."

"Then why, do you think," Garak offered, "they would need that much manpower?"

She let out a breath. "Mercenaries."

The Cardassian tilted his head. "Hypothetically."

Thompson leaned forward. "How much did he offer you?"

"I'm sorry?"

She inhaled sharply, "Oh, he didn't. That's right…Of course."

"I'm afraid you've rather lost me." He narrowed his eyes, but a small smile played on his lips.

"And once they've done that-raised the forces, shown their power," she pressed a hand to her chin, "We're next. Oh, it's so obvious-" She fixed him with a sharp look. "And the Cardassians-"

"I couldn't possibly know what they intend to do, remember," he reminded her, "I'm merely a tailor."

Mae blew out a gust of breath. "Of course." She glanced at the clock on the wall. "If you'll excuse me, I need a drink."

...

"Daaf," she called across Quark's, a grin slipping easily onto her face, a glass loosely clasped in her hand, "I have a question about that handsome ship of yours."

Already a few drinks deep, the Tellarite turned with an answering jeer, "She's a trash heap, but she runs."

"I just thought it was interesting," Thompson easily added a stumble to her step, to make it look as if she'd downed a few more pints than she had, "that it's got a Bajoran name."

The Tellarite barked a laugh. "It travels here so often, my employer thought it was only appropriate."

Mae slipped into the seat across from him, casting her eyes around the table of hulking merchants, offering a sly smile in return to their leers. "What's it mean, d'you know?"

He waved a hand, "You know how the Bajorans are, I'd wager something to do with those rubbish Prophets of theirs."

"You should know, shouldn't you?" She faked a hiccup to cover the bite to the words, "You're the owner."

He forced a laugh, a hint of tension entering his shoulders.

Thompson made a show of pacifying him, "'N don't you worry, I don't mean nothing by it. 'S just curious. The name, I mean," she forced another hiccup, enjoying herself entirely too much, "Y'know we have a story back where I'm from –Earth, I mean. 'Bout a craft that was disguised as a gift and brought into an unsuspecting fortress." She giggled. "A big horse."

Daaf downed the rest of his drink, called Quark for another. The barman hurried over, casting Thompson a suspicious glance, which she ignored. The Tellarite's back was to the door, and over his shoulder she saw Dax enter, glance around for an empty table. The Trill caught sight of Mae sitting at the merchants' table, and raised an eyebrow.

"From what I've found," Thompson continued, "means somethin' like 'ghost,' dunnit?"

Daaf took a long draught of his ale, the giddiness returning to his tone. "Maybe, I don't-"

She let some of the slur drop from tone. "Just curious, like I said, that an ore shipment's named 'ghost.'"

"Ships have odd names," he grunted, obviously wanting her to drop it. She grinned, knowing she'd struck a nerve.

"Right, right," she let the slur return, and watched his face. He seemed to not suspect anything, thanks to the ale padding his system. "I must be wrong, m'mistake."

"What about your story?" he asked, "I'm sure that ship had a strange name."

"Oh, yes, it was called the Trojan Horse. Mostly because it was Trojan War. Not incredibly creative, but it was wartime, I 'spose it can be forgiven."

The Tellarite's lips curved. "'S not wartime now."

He'd followed where she'd led, easy as that. "Right, but it may be." She leaned forward, setting her glass down and folding her hands. "If you and yours continue."

His grin was fading. "What-"

"See, what I neglected to mention about the Trojan Horse were the men concealed inside. They jumped out after dark, slaughtered all their enemies. While they were sleeping. They weren't expected at all." She gave a half-smile, "And if a ghost were to slip in, like any other shipment of ore, well, the overseers at that refinery would be forgiven for suspecting a thing, wouldn't they?"

Daaf leaned closer, words still slurred but the anger within quite clear. "You think you're a clever one, do you?"

"Not in the slightest," she replied, "but thanks for confirming my suspicions. You know, I'd hate for the Federation to find out about your plot, I'm sure they-"

"Bah," he waved a hand, "this is a Bajoran matter."

"Indeed. Why are you involved, may I ask?"

He growled, threw himself back in his chair. "It's an opportunity."

"That's certainly a Ferengi way of looking at things," she said, suspecting there was more.

The man couldn't resist adding, "And when I heard about that shape-shifter, I couldn't help but come see the freak for myself."

Mae's nostrils flared. "Oh?"

"He was watching me the other day, after we'd arrived," he scoffed. "Searched the ship –like we'd be foolish enough to leave anything for him to find." The man's hooded eyes took on a hint of malice. "If he hadn't have had that security team with him, had been alone," he leaned forward, "he wouldn't be strutting around with that smug look on his face anymore."

Thompson said nothing, taking a sip of her drink.

"I'm sure you've no love for him," the Tellarite sneered, "you or that Ferengi barman."

"He's good at what he does," Mae nodded.

"He's a freak," Daaf growled, "Should be sent back to wherever he's from."

She kept her voice even. "Maybe you shouldn't make such open threats. It'd be a shame if someone took them seriously."

"You defending him?"

Mae held up her hands, "I know to pick my battles. And he's not one you should pick to fight."

The Tellarite roared in laughter, the others at his table joining in. The cacophony drew the attention of the rest of the bar, heads turning curiously at the noise. "He doesn't scare me," Daaf snorted, "he's nothing. I could squeeze the life out of him with one hand," he clenched a fist, as if to demonstrate.

Quark was making his way over, a tray of drinks in his hand. "Gentlemen, gentlemen," he said, easily, "let's keep the malice to a minimum."

The glare Daaf sent him could have frozen even a brave man in place, and Quark didn't make it a habit of being an especially brave man. He stepped back with a quick smile and hurried out of the way behind the bar.

The Tellarite turned back to Thompson, who held her ground, coolly returning his gaze. Over his shoulder, she saw Dax intently watching them.

"A coward shifts his form," he said, "a coward who won't fight like a man."

"You're certainly making a lot of threats," she observed, "Do you intend to act on any of them?"

"That's why there's just one of him, isn't it?" he ignored her, "The rest of his kind were so ashamed, they dropped him to the Bajorans to deal with."

Don't, the intelligent part of her brain warned her. You don't owe these Federation types anything, remember? But there was a cool anger that was rising in her stomach nonetheless.

"He has no allies here, he must know that," Daaf continued, oblivious to the clench of her jaw. "That's why he's so intent to insert himself into the business here, he's trying desperately to distract himself." He leaned forward, "It must be so sad, not to have a single friendly face around him."

The table roared again, heads thrown back, and Mae felt her fist clench. No, said her common sense.

"You think that's funny?" said her mouth, curving into a twisted smile.

Don't, shouted her common sense, but it was drowned by a steady thrum of anger.

The Tellarite leaned forward, "I think it's pathetic-"

In one fluid motion, she stood and her arm flashed out, fist connecting with the soft flesh of his snout-like nose. There was a sharp crack as her fingers hit the bone beyond, one she was sure the entire bar heard. He fell back with a squeal of pain very different from the savage tone he'd had a moment before.

She glanced around. "Anyone else feel like laughing?"

The bar was silent.

Quark's teeth were bared in shock, his eyes wide. Dax's mouth was slightly agape, her hand hovering above her combadge. The merchants at the Tellarite's table were equally frozen, unsure whether or not to attack.

In the silence, she leaned over Daaf, who lay, whimpering, on the floor. "I suggest you get off this Station and drop that plan of yours. Stay out of Bajoran affairs."

Thompson sat back down at the table, finally noticing the smarting pain in her hand. Glancing down, she saw the knuckles were slightly warped, blood oozing from several scrapes along the skin. She transferred her drink to her left hand and silently watched the merchants gather up the captain and hurry away.

Slowly the noise of the bar returned to its normal volume, her actions quickly forgotten in the excitement of the Dabo table. She felt Dax's eyes on her, and glanced up, raising an eyebrow.

The Commander stood, gave her a small nod, and walked away.

...

"Thompson!"

She'd had only a few minutes of peace before the shout came, and she looked over. "Ah, Odo, I was wondering how long it would take you to show."

"Why, exactly, did you assault a Tellarite captain?" He looked outraged, eyes flashing.

She smiled easily over the rim of her glass. "I dunno."

"You don't know."

Mae shrugged. "He was getting on my nerves. Wouldn't stop talking."

"So you broke his cheekbone and did nearly irreparable damage to his snout."

"Did I?" She did her best to be a picture of innocence, a casual frown slipping across her face.

"Yes, you did," he growled. "I expect a reason."

"And you got one," she replied, "he got on my nerves." She stood, wincing at a sharp pain in her hand. "If that's all…?"

Odo scowled, "This isn't over." He turned on his heel, and she paused by the bar, handing Quark her now empty glass.

"Keep your mouth shut, Ferengi," she said, raising her eyebrows in an unspoken 'or else.'

His eyes grew even wider and he bared his teeth. "Sure, sure."

"Why did you hit him?" Bashir asked, a few minutes later, as she perched on the edge of the table. He was mending the broken bones in her hand, fixing her with a curious look.

She winced as one of her knuckles made a loud popping noise. "He got on-"

"Yes, I've heard that," the doctor stopped her, "But Jadzia told me there was something else."

"Pray tell," Thompson said, feigning ignorance.

"She said they were making all sorts of threats against Odo," he said, probing the freshly healed skin over one of her knuckles. "Said they were being quite nasty."

"She's right about that."

"I'm sure you're aware Odo can handle a few jokes made at his expense."

"Of course, Doctor, but Odo wasn't there." She flexed her fingers. "And the pretense of a joke is that it's funny."

She didn't like the smile on his face. "I think you've rather come to appreciate him, Ms. Thompson."

"Remember, Doctor, I've still got one good fist," she reminded him, "I'd never live it down if people heard I was being kind. I've got a reputation to uphold, you know."

He grinned. "Of course."

"Thompson," came the familiar bark from the door to the infirmary.

She heaved a sigh. "Can't keep away, can you, Odo?"

He stepped inside, hands clasped behind his back. Bashir glanced at his expression and quickly excused himself, flashing a smile at Mae, who grimaced in reply.

"I, ah, have been told there were extenuating circumstances at Quark's earlier," he said, seeming content to speak across the room at her.

"Meaning you nagged Quark until he spilled it." Damn that Ferengi. "If you search that Tellarite freighter, you'll find enough weapons to stock a small army. They were planning to deliver them to a Bajoran ore refinery on one of the moons in the gamma quadrant. Presumably to one of the factions that doesn't think Bajoran interests lie through the wormhole." She narrowed her eyes. "I'm sure there are ties to the Cardassians as well, but you won't find them. They're likely hidden well by now, if they were ever even visible in the first place."

He looked as if he were debating taking a step forward. "I will look into it."

Thompson flexed her hand, wincing. Sliding to her feet, she rolled down her sleeve, watching the confusion on his face.

Finally he spoke, "If you think for a moment this means I owe you some kind of favor-"

"Favor?" she laughed, "That's not-" She broke off, chortling.

"What's so funny?" he didn't sound amused.

"I don't plan to try and cash this in, don't worry," she assured him, still chuckling. He didn't look convinced, and she continued, "I figure we've got a neat little cops-and-robbers arrangement going on, and I'd hate to end the fun."

"If this is one of your games-"

Thompson held up her hands, "No games, no tricks. Just being friendly. Got to watch a pal's back when they can't be there to defend it themselves."

"'A pal,'" he repeated, and the look of disgusted confusion on his face nearly set her laughing again.

"Yeah, pal," she crossed the room and clapped his shoulder. "And how's this –you've saved my life a few times, now I've defended your honor. Some might say that makes us even."

Odo looked down at the hand she'd placed on his shoulder and she removed it, flashing a winning smile.

He gave a harrumph as she walked away, but allowed a small smile once the doors had slid shut behind her.

**Author's Note:**

> My writing style has changed since I wrote this, but I'm still proud of it in a 'aw...honey' sort of way.


End file.
